


Swweetheart

by SlaveToMyKeyboard



Series: Grub Crèche [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Grubs, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, and has erikar spawn, it's just really sappy, kind of, silly nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7666078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlaveToMyKeyboard/pseuds/SlaveToMyKeyboard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat attempts to be a not-so-single parent whose Matesprit is halfway across the galaxy - or at least that's what he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swweetheart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lizardlicks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardlicks/gifts).



> Happy (slightly belated) Birthday, Lizard!
> 
> You're one of my absolute favourite authors, so I wanted to write you something for your birthday. I hope you like it and have a great year of being internet vintage!

You feel queasy as you boot up your husktop’s webcam, something that isn’t helped by the stench of fish paste still lingering from your offspring’s dinner. Said grub chooses that moment to yawn right in your face, and you actually have to hold your breath. You think you preferred it when he would only accept hoofbeast milk, even if it did mean socialising with the hemo-ist wall of sweat that is Equius Zahhak – who sometimes forgets that _he’s_ _also a mutant_ when he gives you ‘the look’, like you’re insulting him by existing. The video link begins to buffer and your stomach gives another lurch. Which is stupid, because you shouldn’t be so nervous about talking to your Matesprit. If anything, you should be ecstatic – you’ve barely had time to message each other lately, let alone actually see each other. And by see, you mean video chat, because he’s been off-planet for three perigees that have felt like a sweep each night, and won’t be back for another five.

Karcin – your grub’s name is Karcin, and even though it’s not customary to name them before their first pupation, he’s had his name pretty much since he was hatched, or ‘born’, or whatever Kanaya called that weird live hatching thing that you don’t remember a lot of because you were too busy screaming in _fucking agony_ – begins to chitter at your whirring husktop, like he’s mocking how much of a piece of shit it is. Which he probably isn’t, but then again he is made purely from the combined genes of two of the biggest douchebags the planet has to offer, so he very well could be. You’re just about to check what’s taking the video so damn long when the whole thing dies, restarting moments later with one of those messages that essentially translates to ‘I don’t know why I reset, do you? Is it okay for me to try again?’. Fan-fucking-tastic. You press enter and lift Karcin up against your chest. He babbles at you, and you chirr back to him, which spurs a series of happy sea dweller clicks.

You grub isn’t a true sea Troll. He’s got a velvety body that isn’t waterproof in the slightest, and only the tiniest hint of a fin on his tail, which wouldn’t be seen as anything out of the ordinary in higher blood castes. Of course he’ll never pass for anything near purple though, seeing as he’s the colour of an unripened banana. Unripened is a word right? Whatever. Basically, he’s a beacon of green in a hue that’s supposed to have been wiped out before even your _ancestors_ were eggs in the brooding caverns. Turns out that lime bloods weren’t exterminated though, they were just hunted until the only ones that remained were hidden under a layer of bright candy red. You’re not sure if it’s better or worse that the grub you’re cradling doesn’t look anything like you when you were his age. Well, he does sort of look like you; he’s got your nubby horns, if a little longer and wavier, and the same unruly head of hair that you battle with every evening. But there’s also the lime streak brushed back from his freckled face, the almost-fins sticking out beyond his ears, the gills pressed shut along his body. He’s a perfect combination of the Trolls who made him.

Your husktop beeps and the other grub in your lap wakes up to try and copy it along with his hatchmate. You scratch Delfin between the horns, grateful that his black mop is absent of any other colour so that you can actually tell the little guys apart, because other than that they’re pretty much identical – hence your mate insisting that their names rhyme. Apparently they’re both old nicknames for your respective Ancestors, but you just recalled reading them somewhere once and when you saw your grubs, the names jumped into your head. Some people would say it was ‘fate’, you’d say it was your lack of creativity, which was perfectly reasonable at the time. You remember even _less_ of Delfin’s ‘hatching’ – again, due to the unrivalled pain that no Troll was ever supposed to feel – but apparently he popped out right after Karcin. You still cringe at Kanaya’s phrasing. It’s as if you were just toasting grubloaf or something.

You want to growl at how damn long this heap of hoofbeast chutewaste is taking to start up the call again, but if you did that it might scare the boys, so instead you grumble quietly to yourself and refresh the video feed.

“Bah,” Delfin waves his little legs at you, “Bubbah!”

You sigh and scoop him up to be level with his hatchmate.

“Bubbah!” Karcin echoes.

“Yeah, we’ll see him in a minute,” you say, nuzzling them in turn.

‘Bubbah’ is their grub-speak name for your Matesprit. They call you ‘Moomoo’, and you’re not sure if you should be offended that they associate you with the noise a milk-producing hoofbeast makes. But they probably don’t even know what one of those is yet, so you’ll let it slide for now. Also because it’s adorable and sometimes you still find it difficult not to cry when they call out for you using that instead of just sounds. You’re going to blame that on the hormones and lack of sleep.

“Oh come the fuck on,” you mutter.

Kanaya often tells you not to say ‘bad words’ in front of them, but they’re your grubs and both their care givers swear like veteran pirate captains, so you’re not expecting them to be any different.

The boys have almost fallen asleep again by the time the video chimes with an incoming call, and before you even answer it they’re chirping and squirming so much that you have to put them back in your lap.

“Sorry for bein’ late lovve, I had to sort out a couple a things.” You hear Eridan’s voice before you see him, the bad connection emphasising his wavy accent.

“It’s fine,” is all you can say, because moments later the video kicks in and your chest swells with every emotion known to Troll kind, all of your words stolen by a beaming, dagger-toothed smile.

Gods you’ve missed him. The way his hair is still styled back like it has been since he was a grub, showing off the dumb purple streak that you can never resist running your fingers through. The way his fins move and flutter, showing exactly how he’s feeling no matter how hard he tries to keep everything hidden, hold up that scary, violet blooded Orphaner bullshit that he only ever really drops around his quadrants. The scars covering his body, each notch or pale line telling a story that sometimes only you know. How his freckles are stars and his eyes bright galaxies, painting a picture more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen in the Alternian sky. You should write all that sappy shit down at some point, he’d love it – probably ask you to read it to him during sunrise over dinner or something.

Your earlier nausea melts away, leaving you with nothing but relieved warmth and a buzz of excitement. You’re talking as if he’s been gone for sweeps, but seeing him again, you don’t know if you can bare to go another night without feeling his arms around you, the chill of his skin and his scent as you sleep. You’ve been wearing his shirts occasionally, but it’s just not the same. It’s been like living without half your blood pusher, or with your chest tied to his and pulling from halfway across the star system, or some other romantic metaphor that you can’t quite recall right now because he’s there and he’s talking to you and shit you need to say something.

You sigh, “I’m just glad to see you,” then the grubs squeak and you lift them up into view, “ _we’re_ glad to see you.”

You didn’t think he could smile any wider, but when he sees them, his whole face lights up. Your own mouth stretches into a grin, even though it just makes you want to cry more.

“Hello swweethearts,” he coos, leaning closer to the screen and obviously not caring if his co-workers hear him when he starts making sea dweller noises and speaking nonsense words to them.

You bounce the grubs a little as they babble and call back to him, simultaneously trying to grasp out at the screen and hold onto you.

“So, how are things in the middle of fuck knows where?” You ask once he sits back, having used the time he spent paying attention to the grubs to compose yourself.

“Actually,” he begins, and you can tell from his face that you have a long-winded, very scientific correction on the horizon, “I knoww _exactly_ wwhere my ship is; it’s in the GXZ51 alpha sector just a bit awways from Zañath on the boarders a orbitin’ it’s largest exoplanet, hence wwhy wwe’re measurin’ in alphas, but if ya need it in terms a’ ezan-centric, extra-celestial coordiantes I could givve it a go, there should be a star chart around here somewwhere that uses the old system.”

Yep, that went in one ear and out the other, possibly causing a few cells in your pan to self-destruct on the way because of the sheer number of words in there that you didn’t understand. It may also have been because you were distracted as soon as he said ‘my ship’ and got that look on his face, the one where he’s smug but he’s trying to hide it, so he ends up talking with this half smile that you spent sweeps finding so infuriatingly endearing – now it’s just adorable, unless it’s because of something that’s pissing you off.

“No, it’s alright, don’t worry about it,” you say as he actually starts looking for the chart, “I’m sure even if you told me the exact location of your ass down to the millimetre, I still wouldn’t be able to find you without the aid of a navigation system that could understand fish hipster.”

Eridan laughs, “Wwoww, lovve you too, Kar.”

“I do,” you blurt out, “I love you, really.”

He smiles, and you see his arm move towards the screen. Then there’s a clack and the whole thing shakes slightly as he flinches.

“Oh fuck, v-vvideo, right.”

By the time you realise that he actually tried to hold your hand through his computer, he’s lilac from fins to nose and has found something very interesting on his scarf. Laughing would probably be a bad idea, but you can’t hold in a snort – hey, your hands are kind of full alright? You’re expecting the angry pout, the woe-is-me-you’re-so-mean-Kar spiel that gets you to apologise every time, regardless of if you did anything out of line. But instead, he stays quiet and glances over his shoulder. Your chest tightens at the thought that someone might be talking to him, intruding on your time together, asking him to go do something.

“Hey, Kar, listen,” he pauses to turn around before continuing, but the look on his face says it all, “I’vve got somethin’ important to take care of, but I’ll see you again real soon, okay? I promise.”

You nod, trying so hard not to show how close you are to breaking, to put on a brave face.

“Yeah, okay.” Your voice is quiet, strained.

You feel so guilty, so selfish. He’s got a job. A really, really important job. He serves Feferi, serves the _Empress_. He ensures a safe future for the grubs that it’s your job to raise. And once the boys are old enough, you’ll go back to being a Threshecutioner, back to helping the cause. That’s just how it is. Video calls for everyone, whoop-de-fucking-do.

Evidently, your ‘brave face’ is akin to that of a kitten. Eridan’s fins droop even lower, and you didn’t think his eyes could look any bigger behind his glasses but you were wrong – so, so wrong. He mouths “I’m sorry” and you shake your head and whisper that “It’s fine” because you can’t afford to upset the grubs. They look so confused when he waves goodbye to them. They squeak and claw at the now blank screen, then up at you as if you’ve got an answer they’ll understand. The only thing you can offer is a hug, but it seems to do the trick – for all three of you.

After half an hour of sitting on the floor cooing at your spawn, it feels around the right time for food. You glance at the clock. Midnight, yeah, you should probably eat something other than biscuits tonight. You settle the boys down in their blanket nest and get half way to the nutritionblock, when there’s a knock at the door of your hive. Still in the old Alternian mindset, your first thought is ‘fuck, the drones’. Then you remember Feferi’s new ruling on non-hostile treatment of planet-bound Trolls, which is enforced with particular scrutiny around neighbourhoods known to contain mutants. That doesn’t exactly make it better though, because if it’s not a drone, it’s a Troll. A Troll who could very well have no qualms about slaughtering a family of mutants and would probably get away with it too.

Or maybe it’s just a friend? Let’s try to be positive here. Still, who the fuck would be visiting _you_? It’s not Kanaya – she always gives a warning. So does Terezi, so it probably isn’t her either. Frozen to the spot, you hold your breath and wait. Another knock makes you start. Maybe you should… Answer it? Or something? That’s what people do, right? Just answer their door to whoever’s on the other side, invite them in for tea and not worry about what weapon they’ve got stashed on them? God, you are the worst. You’ve spent so long being scared that you can’t even do something as simple as answer the door to your own hive. The third knock is the final straw.

Sickle captchalogued, you walk as confidently as you can towards the door, and open it. There’s a bunch of flowers in your face almost immediately. Garish, red things that make your nose tingle and your eyes water. You push them away, blinking as you try not to sneeze.

Suddenly none of that matters because that sounds like Eridan’s laugh, and when you look up that is definitely him on your doorstep and- wha- just- _how_?

“Oh my God, your face.” He’s still chuckling behind his hand, cheeks stretched in a grin.

You, however, still resemble a gaping catfish, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m seein you a course, like I said I wwould.” He steps inside and tosses the flowers onto a table.

“But you said you were out in some other star system somewhere!”

He smirks, “No, I said my _ship_ wwas out there.”

You slap your palm against your forehead, letting out a sigh that turns into a laugh. He scoops you up before you can say anything else, hugging you tight as if he wants to become a single Troll, and you squeeze him back because you’d love nothing more. You’re crying by the time he closes the hive door with his butt, and by the dampness on your neck, you’re guessing he is too.

“Bubbah!”

Oh God did you _actually forget_ about your grubs for a second there? You’re the worst Lusus, literally _the worst_. You wipe your face and squirm for Eridan to put you down, which he does gently, thankfully – your legs are jelly and you almost face plant on your way to scoop up the now wailing grubs. Eridan meets you half way to take them from your arms, letting them rub themselves all over his face whilst he makes stupid kissy noises. The whole block is practically drenched in affectionate pheromones by now, and it makes a fuzzy ball of warmth next to your blood pusher.

Eventually, the boys calm down enough to be content with just being held.

“They’re gettin’ big.” Eridan says, admiring them.

You wrap you arms around all three of them with a thoughtful hum, your head resting next to the grubs on Eridan’s shoulder.

“You think?”

To you, they’ve barely changed, but you guess being away from someone makes even small changes seem more noticeable.

“Yeah.” He presses a kiss to your nearest horn, and you remember just how much you _love_ the chill it gives you. “So, wwhat do you think of my surprise.”

You scoff, “I think it’s absolutely fucking amazing and I never want you to leave, but if you ever do anything like that again I will actually maim you. Seriously and in places only I will see.”

He actually tenses at that, then relaxes with a slight laugh, “I’m stayin’ for a perigee, is that long enough to tide you ovver until next sweep?”

It’s really not, because a perigee isn’t even a fraction of the forever you’re pining for – all the same, you can’t wait to have him around all the time for a whole sweep when his deployment ends. But you say yes and nod anyway, standing on tiptoes to plant your lips against his. You can’t do all the things you want to do to him until the grubs are asleep later, but right now you think you’re just okay with this. Just being with him, with _them_. Your little family.


End file.
